


Uh... Yes, Mistress.

by NicoleBrandy



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dominatrix, F/M, Femdom, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I obnoxiously type accents, I'm Sorry, Lemon, Pegging, Reader is a Dominatrix, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Reader/Trevor Phillips, S&M, Trevor Phillips - Freeform, What Have I Done, dom!reader, sub!Trevor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleBrandy/pseuds/NicoleBrandy
Summary: Trevor, as he so often does, gets hopelessly drunk. And he ends up wandering into some weird kind of sex club. It isn't really his thing, but upon meeting you, he is instantly drawn into your world. The world... of FemDom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What? Me? An obsession with Trevor Phillips? Nahhhh. You crazy. Nothing racy in the first chapter; keep your pants on. Next chapter will be full of naughty things.

"Yyyeaaaaah, welllll, ffffuck you, tooo, ya p-... prick!" 

Those were the first words that came out of the middle-aged man's mouth as he was thrown out the door of the bar he had been drinking at for the past three hours. Now it was past midnight, he was shitfaced drunk, and he had just been tossed out of the only decent nearby pub. Apparently, threatening the bartender to shove his empty beer bottle up her ass unless she gave him another shot was, 'inappropriate,' and, 'he has to leave before I call the cops.' Whatever. The bartender was a cunt, anyway. He could always storm in there, kill the bitch (and anyone else that dared to give him a hard time), steal all the liquor, and bolt.

...Nah. There were too many doors now. And they were all spinning. And where was the ground? Oh, there it was. He found it. With his face.

For a while he just kinda lay there on the ground, face-down, ignoring all the people who walked around him and gave him weird stares. There was one particular passerby that struck a nerve with him, however. It was the clicking of three-inch stilettos that made him raise his face from the ground. He tried to focus his eyes on the figure walking in his direction, but the world was reeling too fast for him to process anything he was seeing. Instead he just kinda threw up a little, right there on the sidewalk. This prompted the figure - presumably a woman - to sneer. As she stepped over him, though unclear whether it was an accident or not, the tip of her heel booted him in the side. Evidence of the action not being a mistake was made apparent by the way she shot a glare behind her at the man as she walked, scoffing under her breath. 

"Dirty little wench..." were the words that left her, in a heavy French accent, and even through his drunken haze the man on the ground heard them. And he was not happy. Lifting his head and pushing himself up onto his wrists, he made his anger known.

"The fuck did you just say to me, bitch??" he spat, doing his best to get to his feet without looking like a fool. The woman didn't bother turning around, or even pause in her walking. She merely let out a humorless laugh. 

"You 'eard me, worm," was all she replied with, calling the exotically pronounced words over her shoulder with a dismissive wave of her hand. This angered the man, whose anger was rather sobering him as he heatedly marched after the woman.

"Lady, you know who the fuck I am? I am Trevor. Fuckin'. Phillips. And I will fucking  _kill_ you. You hear me??" The words were venomous. It was clear this guy wasn't kidding around. Any sane person would've scurried to apologize and/or get the fuck up out of that situation. But not this girl. No, on the contrary. She stopped dead in her tracks, head dropping towards the ground. At first Trevor mistook her for sniveling in fear. But soon - by the shaking of her head, the sounds from her lips, and the hands on her hips as she turned to face him - it was clear that she was laughing.  _Laughing_. As her life was outright threatened and there were no witnesses within several blocks. This woman, standing there with her black, mid-thigh-length trench coat tied tied across her stomach and her black leather boots that went up past her knees, was quite literally laughing in the face of death. It put Trevor on edge, and he was immediately wary, especially as she took a few languid steps towards him. With each one, as her heel hit the pavement it clicked. Her eyes were trained on the man's face, confidently; there was fire in her eyes, and she clearly showed no fear as she approached him. 

"Oh, is zat right?" the woman jeered. Her eyes narrowed, challenging him. " _Do it._ "

That was all it took. Trevor was furious now. Instantly he reached behind him for the pistol that was hooked onto his belt. Without a stitch, he drew his weapon and aimed it. The barrel of the gun stopped her from advancing, but she didn't retreat. She merely stood there, those testing hazel eyes locked onto his brown ones. Even with the barrel of a nine-millimeter pressed firmly against the center of her temple - the shot would surely kill her instantly - she did not fall back. 

"You outta yer goddamn mind, woman?" Trevor rumbled from deep within his throat, his eyes and aim not faltering in the slightest. If looks could kill, the two would both be dead by now. "You think I won't shoot?" He snapped his thumb upwards, flicking the safety off, and pressed the cold metal into her skin. "I'll fuckin' do it. Don't you dare test me." That fire in the woman's eyes mirrored Trevor's; neither of them backed down so much as a millimeter.

"Oh," the European brunette uttered, in a low, defying purr, " _I dare._ " Trevor narrowed his eyes.

He pulled the trigger.

Click. 

The two adults stood there, eyes locked with each other and poise unwavering. It was the woman who was first to break the silence with a bored sigh. "Next time," she concluded with a condescending tone to her voice, "make sure zere are bullets in ze chamber before trying to ice someone, oui?" With that, the strange woman swiftly pivoted - her long, chocolaty locks swiping him in the face as she did so - and walked away. Trevor stood there, dumbfounded, and watched her leave without a single word or movement. His eyes followed her as she crossed the street and made her way into a shady-looking building with no signs and boarded up windows. Said eyes narrowed as she entered the building without so much as a glance back at him. How dare she! He'd make that bitch - whoever she was - pay.

Gritting his teeth in anger, and without looking both ways (or putting his gun away), Trevor stormed across the road to follow the French woman. No one blew off Trevor Phillips like that. He'd definitely make her pay. He'd fuckin' kill her.

...At least, that was the plan. Until he got inside and saw what was going on in this building.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot... But I want to see if people are interested in the idea first, so I'm gonna let it be a mini-story and continue if I get enough people interested in seeing it get completed. Leave yer kudos & comments, fellow Trevor-fuckers!


End file.
